the funeral of a cloud ( Read more... )

Moonlight hits a fresh grave and from the burial dirt a liver-spotted hand pushes upwards. The hand grabs and twists until another hand, then a head, appears from the grave ( Read more... )

I need to join some sort of writing group man. I tried the one advertised at Barnes and Noble and it wasnt actually real ( Read more... )

Every drink floats ( Read more... )

My flowers stand upright ( Read more... )

I actually have a title for this poem ( Read more... )

What do you write about, at home at night, after we fuck? Do you write at all? What do you write about, poet- fucker? I wrote you a note but too ashamed to leave it I took it. Words leave so much to the imagination. What I should have done was just write it simply. I like you. Is it obvious? Do you care ( Read more... )

"The Woman With The Tattooed Hands ( Read more... )

Sometimes when I'm driving by myself I'll explain different situations to myself. Today, I explained my past living situations to no one in particular. Also, I raged on Guy about being a doucher and myself for living up to dumb female stereotypes ( Read more... )

blargh worst month EVER ( Read more... )